Let Me Not Count The Clock That Tells The Time Comments

Your poem reminds me of my poem, Border Soul, which I will repeat here. It is not on my profile since it is one of my older poems, but of course feel free to browse the poems I have posted on my profile. BORDER SOUL To sink, betimes, below an archer frame and here bely the hope to crave again; the deeper will, a calmer, quicker flame before the soul, in torpor, splits in twain. Here all miseries collide, are blasted out of name; the cauldron boils, and in it nought but pain! To hope the Fates have spun a brighter garment than that of truth, which bickers with content; No fleece as once adopts a straying eye; no fortune fills its object with a cause so grave as this all-gnawing Vice, self-defacing hatred, and all of spite's death-ice! Near enough are we to some ill Brink as to give substance to a physic Pause and grace our terror with a little ink and stare ope-mouthed at those chill jaws! - -A notation: the last line perhaps succeeds with a technique that Theodore Roethke admired, and may not have succeeded with, namely, getting as near as possible to accenting every syllable. It's a technique I admire as well- -